


Slow Burn

by whiskyandwildflowers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Cross-Generation Relationship, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, James is hot what else can I say, M/M, Magical cock ring spells, Maybe a little bit of praise kink, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskyandwildflowers/pseuds/whiskyandwildflowers
Summary: “I want to take my time with you, James. I want to take you apart and put you back together and savour you the way I think you deserve. I want this to last, and I want you remember this for the rest of your life—you, underneath me, spent and sated and ruined for anyone else.” James squirms in Draco’s grasp, and Draco knows if he reached down, James would be hot and rock hard against his hand. “Let me take care of you.”“Well go on then,” James says, the arrogant tilt of his chin betrayed by the slight tremble in his voice. “Take me apart, Draco. If you think you can.”





	Slow Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt #S209, edging/overstimulation from goldentruth813. 
> 
> This was fun to write—and basically just me projecting my thirst for James Sirius Potter through the eyes of Draco Malfoy. It is what it is.
> 
> Thanks so much to restlessandordinary for your beta skills! Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.

As a member of the Quidditch League’s Board of Directors, Draco isn’t supposed to be fucking the talent, strictly speaking.

He’s certainly not supposed to be dragging James Sirius Potter through the Floo directly into his bedroom, his hands tangled in an auburn mess of hair.

He’s _definitely_ not supposed to let James mouth needily at his jaw while he fumbles with the buttons on Draco’s shirt. But this wouldn’t exactly be the first time it’s happened, and likely won’t be the last.

Draco catches James’s wrist before he gets very far with the buttons. “This is the problem with your generation. You’re so used to instant gratification—you’re always in a rush. You don’t know how to savour or appreciate anything.”

“Okay, you sounded approximately a million years old just now,” James says with an eye roll, the fingertips of his free hand grazing playfully at the nape of Draco’s neck. “And I don’t think you’re the right person to be lecturing me about instant gratification. Last week I was here when you Express-Owled some special soap or whatever from Paris.” James, infuriatingly, might have a point there. Draco _is_ used to getting what he wants. But, that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t learned something over the years about restraint. Some things, after all, can’t be bought.

He squeezes James’s wrist before releasing it. “You could do with learning some patience,” he whispers into James’s ear, hearing his sharp intake of breath. “And despite what you may think, I’m _exactly_ the person to teach you.” James arches up against Draco eagerly, but Draco pulls back, choosing instead to cup James’s cheek and run a thumb along his full bottom lip.

Draco is not naturally a patient person. With James, he usually feels a primal urge to rut against him frantically as if they’re two rival Quidditch players in the locker room working off their unresolved tension from the pitch. Draco is impatient and stubborn, and James is young and fiery and obstinate, and together they’ve begun this impulsive, wild tryst that’s an outlet for his energy that Draco hadn’t known he’d needed. James is who he hadn’t known he’d needed.

But tonight is different—Draco doesn’t want a flame that flashes white hot for a fleeting moment.

He wants a slow burn.

And so when James moans and bites the thumb slowly pressing onto his lip, a quick scrape of teeth that makes Draco’s cock harder than he’d like to admit, Draco backs off completely.

Even in the dim light of the bedroom, Draco can see James’s flush under his freckles, his mouth open and pink and so kiss-swollen, but his eyes flash as Draco steps away.

“What the fuck? Are you having second thoughts or something, because I’ll just go if you’re going to be weird,” James says, wrinkling his brow and attempting to mask the uncertain expression on his face.

Before James can get the wrong impression, Draco moves towards him again and grasps his biceps, rubbing small, reassuring circles against the firm muscle under the fabric of his jumper.

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Draco replies. “I want to take my time with you, James. I want to take you apart and put you back together and savour you the way I think you deserve. I want this to last, and I want you remember this for the rest of your life—you, underneath me, spent and sated and ruined for anyone else.” James squirms in Draco’s grasp, and Draco knows if he reached down, James would be hot and rock hard against his hand. “Let me take care of you.”

“Well go on then,” James says, the arrogant tilt of his chin betrayed by the slight tremble in his voice. “Take me apart, Draco. If you think you can.” And Draco remembers what it’s like to be in your twenties and in a rush for everything, in a rush to grow up, in a rush to have everything you’ve ever wanted. And truth be told, if he’s honest, Draco’s worried that he can’t pull this off. James makes him nervous, and excited, and throws him off guard, but James also doesn’t need to know that.

So Draco kisses him, still holding him steady by the biceps, and quelling James’s attempts to deepen it or take control. James makes such needy, broken little noises, desperate for Draco to lose the tenuous grip he’s keeping on his resolve.

And Draco knows it’s going to be worth it as he scrapes his teeth down the tendon of James’s neck, relishing how his slight stubble is leaving marks in its wake. He wants to rub James raw in every way he can.

Draco slips his hands underneath James’s jumper, brushing over the ridges of his toned stomach and feeling the muscles jump and clench under his touch.

“ _Merlin_ , Draco. I want to touch you. I’m dying here—I’m dying to touch you or for you to touch me, or just fucking _do_ something.” James is tense, and they’re both completely dressed, and as annoyed as James is trying to pretend that he is, Draco knows he’s just as curious to see how this is going to play out. This isn’t easy for him, knowing that James is _right there_ , pure want etched across his features. Holding himself back just because Draco has asked him to.

Draco peels off James’s jumper and walks him backwards towards the bed, careful not to touch James where he wants it most. Careful to not let James touch _him_ where he wants it most.

Finally, with one hand holding James steady at the waist, Draco reaches down to cup James through his jeans, his cock heated and solid under the thick fabric. He presses against James’s cock with the heel of his hand and James arches his back from the pressure. James clenches and unclenches his fists rhythmically like the beating of a heart with every touch of Draco’s palm against him.

Draco longs to shuck off his own shirt and trousers and slide himself against James—to feel the heat of James’s skin against his—but he won’t. This barrier is what allows Draco to keep some of his control. He’s never been very good at resisting temptation, especially when that temptation is naked and needy in front of him. He’s equally needy, but practiced at hiding it in a way James isn’t yet.

Achingly slow, Draco undoes the flies of James’s jeans, dropping to his knees as he does so. He presses his cheek against the stiff fabric covering James’s thighs. James bucks his hips forward, and slides one hand into Draco’s hair, blunt fingertips dragging lovingly over his scalp.

“You’re—down there—oh god, Draco, fuck” James babbles, a mess already even though Draco is barely touching him. And how is Draco supposed to keep it together when James is practically moaning his name like _that_?

Draco looks up at him, meeting James’s warm brown eyes, which lights him up completely from the inside out. “Yes, James. Me. Down here. I told you that some things are worth the wait.” He slides James’s jeans and pants down his thick, toned thighs. Merlin, those thighs. Draco thinks about them often—straining with effort as he rides a broom, straining with effort as he rides Draco.

“You’re so lovely, aren’t you? And you want me, don’t you? You’re just waiting for me to have you and take you and fuck you the way that you deserve,” Draco murmurs, partially because he actually wants the validation, wants this affirmation from James. He lets his breath ghost over James’s cock which is jutting out and gorgeously hard. “You’re dying for me to suck you dry and leave you breathless.”

James gasps at the filth tumbling from Draco’s lips, and the sensation of Draco’s breath skating over his length. “Yeah, God, yeah. I want it all, I want you, want everything.”

Draco runs his fingertips through the dark trail of hair on James’s stomach, finally taking his cock in hand. It’s as captivating as the rest of him, and Draco wants to feel the weight of it on his tongue. His own cock is straining against his trousers, but Draco has always prided himself on his ability to compartmentalize.

The first touch of Draco’s mouth against his cock sends James into a tailspin. He throws his head back almost violently, reaching backwards to anchor himself to the edge of the bed. Draco luxuriates in the salty, soapy taste of James’s skin, lazily taking him in, inch by torturous inch. He slips his tongue into the slit, gripping onto James’s thigh to keep them both steady. Although the room is warm and somewhat humid, James is covered in goosebumps and shivering.

“God—oh my fucking God, you’re so good at this,” James gushes praise, and it affects Draco more than he’d like to admit. Draco is languid and leisurely in his ministrations, but James has been too worked up and too close for too long. Draco pulls off, a string of saliva and precome continuing to connect his mouth to James’s cock.

He doesn’t wipe his mouth.

“No,” Draco starts, gripping James tightly at the base to keep him from coming. “We’re not done yet. We’ve barely gotten started, you eager thing.”

“Please—I,” James groans feverishly as Draco lets go of his cock, moving his hips against the air as if there’s release to be found there while Draco stands and eases him flat onto the bed. He removes James’s jeans completely, and admires the vision that is James, sprawled out across his bed, panting and frantic and practically begging for Draco’s touch.

Draco moves on top of James, not even caring that James’s cock is brushing up against the fine knit of his trousers, smearing the fabric with precome and the remnants of Draco’s mouth.  He kisses James again, biting at his lower lip and sucking it into his mouth. Every instinct is telling Draco to thrust up against James until he’s coming all over himself in his own trousers like a teenager. He buries his nose in James’s neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent of sweat, cheap shampoo, and, for some reason, sunlight.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Draco pants in James’s ear, letting whatever mask he’d been attempting to wear fall away as he feels James writhing underneath him, his heat bleeding through the fabric of Draco’s trousers and shirt. “I—fuck, I burn for you, James.”

And Draco does. Draco longs for James when they’re not together. He aches for the feeling he gets in James’s presence—the heat and the spark and the youth of it all, sprinkled with a lightness and stubborn optimism that Draco wants to drown in completely. With James, Draco gets to be the teenager he never had the opportunity to be the first time around.

James moves his hand to cup Draco’s cheek, going stock-still for a moment, his gaze molten and liquid and pinning Draco to the spot.

“Draco, obviously me too.”

And it might not seem like poetry on the surface, but that small admission has Draco’s blood soaring through his veins, his heart rattling against his ribs so intensely he wonders if—hopes that—James can feel it.

This galvanizes Draco into action and he slides down James’s body, kissing and sucking marks into all the tender flesh he can, trying to memorize every freckle scattered across James’s body as James curls his fists into the sheets. He doesn’t want even the smallest inch of James to be left uncharted.

“Do you remember that spell I told you about?” Draco asks as he does protection spells and conjures some lube. James nods. “Can we—”

James’s breath catches “Yeah, oh—fuck, yeah. Do it. We can do it,” he babbles and Draco smirks. Gryffindors are always up for anything—some things never change.

Draco takes James’s cock in hand as he rubs one finger over his entrance, taking in how James rubs back against him, writhing against the bed, with a breathy string of curses and praise falling from his lips. He pushes his finger in slowly—almost agonizingly slow—and as hot as James runs on the outside, it’s _nothing_ compared to how he feels on the inside.

“God, James, look at you. Look at you mussed up in my sheets.” Draco’s voice cracks as he drinks in James, using his thumb to swipe over the precome building at the tip of James’s cock and adding another finger. James keens and throws his head back against the pillow, arching off the bed. He wants to smell James in his sheets for days after, reliving this memory until they can remake it.

“You’ve had me on my knees today,” Draco continues as he brushes against the spot he knows will have James begging. His own cock is straining against his trousers and becoming extremely difficult to ignore. “I think you could make me do anything you wanted.”

“I’m going to—please I—” James groans as he tries to fuck himself on Draco’s fingers, and Draco can feel that every muscle in his body is tight and poised to spring at any moment. But Draco gets there first, wandlessly spelling a glowing ring around the base of James’s cock. James gasps as if all of the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Ah—fuck!—” James cries out brokenly as Draco continues to stroke him. He’s so gorgeous like this, panting and practically incoherent, falling to pieces in Draco’s hands.

“I wish you could see how you look right now,” Draco says shakily, letting go of James’s cock and pushing one of his legs back against his chest. “You’re absolutely _wrecked_. I’ve never seen your cock this hard. It’s obscene.” And it is. James is an absolute vision of obscenity, with Draco’s spell leaving him teetering on the cusp of release and his cock almost painfully flushed and leaking against his stomach.

James lets out a frustrated groan. “Fuck—just fuck me. I need you to f—fuck me. Want to come with you.” Draco stills, his cock throbbing needily inside of his trousers and the final thin threads of his resolve snapping dramatically. Withdrawing his messy fingers, Draco rips his trousers open, sending a button flying halfway across the room.

It takes a concerted effort for Draco not to come almost immediately once he takes his neglected cock in hand, not even bothering to push his trousers down before slicking himself up and pushing inside James. And as ready as James has been for nearly thirty minutes, he’s so _tight_ that Draco can barely breathe. James is hot and tight and fucking himself on Draco’s cock, all pretense of taking this slow completely forgotten.

Draco can’t think. His brain is blank as he chases his pleasure, drinking in the pure sensation of being completely wrapped in _James_ , biting into his shoulder and moving inside him. They breathe into each other’s mouths, no longer coordinated enough to kiss, but needing to be connected in as many ways as possible.

“God— _God_ —I,” James groans, and Draco rears back, managing to compose himself long enough to remove the spell on James’s cock.

“Do it—go on,” Draco moans into James’s mouth, reaching between them and clumsily thumbing over the head of James’s cock. James clenches around him, gasping for air and shuddering with his whole body as he finally comes all over himself, covering his torso with his long-deserved release. That’s the sight that does Draco in—James underneath him, breathless and covered in his own come, utterly sated and high on exertion. Draco had wanted to ruin James for other men, but as he comes undone, pulsing inside James with an intensity that he hasn’t felt in years, it’s likely the reverse is true.

James has _ruined_ Draco—has gotten under his skin in a way that leaves him stunned and stupid, and desperate for more.

“You are never going to be able to wear those trousers again,” James laughs quietly after a few moments, finally finding his voice after they break apart and spelling himself and Draco clean. “Like, even the Hogwarts elves with their industrial-strength charms couldn’t fix that mess.”

Draco swats him on the arm. “Luckily I have many, many other pairs of trousers for us to destroy.”

James hums and stretches out on the bed, cracking his back and shoulders. “Maybe next time you can ruin a pair of mine. That spell is wild—and I’m definitely using that on you the next time I get home from a bunch of away games.”

The thought of James using that spell on him makes Draco shiver, and his cock twitches with interest. “Some things are worth the wait, I’m glad you’re learning.”

James is definitely worth the wait.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](https://whiskyandwildflowers.tumblr.com)


End file.
